What Matters is Their Heart
by DakotaRattlecat
Summary: A Wood elf fleeing the Thalmor ends up in Skyrim facing execution. After escaping the burning ruins of Helgen, he finds himself in Whiterun and in need of work, why not join the Companions? They seem to like him alright, well, all except Vilkas. M/M
1. Chapter 1

**I've been playing the crap out of Skyrim (dear god it's SO much better than Oblivion) and have tried to start several different fics for it, but other than the one-shot, but I never got into them enough to post anything. Please comment if you like it so far, I've started the next chapter and I'll hopefully get it done and posted soon! ^^**

***Edit: Ok so I added more to this chapter, rather than make another really short one.**

_So this is how it's going to end_, Falcon grunted as the Imperial captain pushed him down onto the chopping block with her boot, _I escaped the Thalmor, only to be caught by the Empire for being in the wrong place at the wrong time_.

He had many regrets, but all of them fled his mind as the executioner readied his axe, only to be replaced by smiling faces of his parents and sister. _Well, at least I'll finally be able to see them again_, he smiled sadly down at the pool of blood left behind by the first man to be beheaded. The bosmer heard a labored huff as the hooded man hefted his axe up and braced himself for the pain sure to come, but what he got was very different. Instead of the bite of cold steel, the elf felt like he'd been hit by an angry horse. The force of the blow knocked him off the stone block into the cooling body of the dead Nord beside him. He looked up in shock as screams echoed around him, a massive black dragon sat perched atop the watchtower as fire fell from the sky. The beast roared, causing the very ground to shake before taking off, the downdraft from its wings slamming Falcon to the ground again.

"Hey Wood Elf! Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance!"

Shaking himself, Falcon peered through the smoke to see the speaker, the blonde Nord from the wagon, waving frantically at him. Disentangling himself from the beheaded corpse, he ran with the man, _Ralof was his name, right?_ to the safety of a stone tower. Just before he'd reached the door, the ground erupted beside him, and for a second, all he could see was flame. The elf roared in pain, as the explosion threw him to the ground and where he writhed in the dirt as the flames caught on his shirt and licked over his torso. It seemed like an eternity before he managed to smother the flames, and by then he was in agony. Another roar sounded above him, providing another burst of adrenaline, just enough to get him back on his feet and scrambling through the ruined wall of a house before the area where he was only seconds before was set ablaze. Falcon was struggling to catch his breath just inside the door of the cottage, when he recognized the figure of the Nord Legionnaire from before, the one with the list. Falcon glanced at the sky before jogging awkwardly over to the Nord who was dragging a young boy out of the way of the dragon's fire.

Noticing the half-charred elf's approach, Hadvar felt a bit of relief that the bosmer had made it. To be honest, he really hadn't thought it fair that the man was going to be executed just for being unlucky enough to stumble into their caravan of prisoners; at least one good thing might come of this mess. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." Giving a nod, Falcon trailed him as they made their way through the chaos.

"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar bellowed, and not a moment too soon as the great beast descended upon the wall and landed heavily, using its wings to steady itself. For a moment, Falcon didn't dare breath as he crouched by the wall, the beast's talons barely an inch from his burnt face, before the monster took off again and Hadvar was dragging him through a burning house and into the courtyard.

As they tore towards the keep Falcon noticed the blue clad form of Ralof, and so it seemed did Hadvar as he snarled insults at his kinsman. For a moment the elf thought they were going to duke it out right there while the village burned around them, but the looming shape of the dragon thankfully snapped them out of their glare contest and reminded them of the situation. Ripping his gaze from the blonde Nord, Hadvar sprinted towards the heavy oak door of the keep, "With me prisoner, let's go!"

Falcon faltered for a moment when he heard Ralof call out to him as well, but he'd come too far with the red-headed Legionnaire to just abandon him now. His legs shook as exhaustion threatened to drop him before he could make it, but as Hadvar heaved the door open, the bosmer somehow found the strength to make it the last few meters and throw himself through the door.

After slamming the door shut and barricading it, Hadvar took a moment to breathe. From the looks of things they were in the barracks, a row of beds and chests lined one wall and some shelves and tables were arranged on the other side of the room. His gaze flicked down to the elf at his feet, who hadn't moved since he had flung himself through the door. The man was painfully thin, his shoulders and hips jutting up against the rough fabric of his prison issue tunic and breeches. As a wood elf, it wasn't unusual for him to be extremely slim and on the short side, but the lad looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. He was pale, as far as Bosmer went, with blue war paint smeared around his eyes. If it wasn't covered in dirt and soot, his hair might be red; it was cropped close to his scalp on the sides, and allowed to grow in the middle into a long and unruly mohawk. His left side was badly burned, and now that Hadvar could get a decent look at him, he could see the elf was trembling slightly.

_Poor_ _man, probably in shock from those wounds_. Hadvar quickly dug through his pack and retrieved a healing potion he saved for emergencies. "Hey, Falcon right? Drink this, you'll feel better." He reached for the elf's head only for him to snap to life, hiss, and scuttle away on the floor, eyes wild and unseeing. "Falcon! Calm yourself, man! I'm here to help you!" Hadvar said urgently, slowly followed him on his knees, trying to seem nonthreatening to the shaking Bosmer. A flicker of recognition passed across his gold eyes and he relaxed a bit, just enough for Hadvar reach him and coax him into drinking the crimson potion.

The effects were almost immediate as Falcon slumped with relief, his blistered skin returning to its previous state as the several gashes he'd received while running closed. He quickly climbed to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to push certain thoughts from his mind, lest he lose himself again. The burning village outside was far too similar to his own home's fate and it was bringing back old memories.

Deciding the elf had recovered from his strange fit, Hadvar stood as well. "You'd better find some armor and suit up. We're in the guards' barracks so you should be able to find something."

Falcon nodded and began searching through the room. He quickly found some armor in a chest by the wall and after wriggling out of the prison rags, he slipped it on. The leather imperial armor sagged pathetically over his body, having obviously been made to fit a much larger man. He snatched a sword belt from a nearby table and fastened it around his waist to keep his greaves from sliding off and pulled an equally massive pair of boots on. All in all he was quite sure he looked like a little boy wearing his father's armor, and that was further validated when Hadvar looked back at him and had to stifle his laughter. With an irritated grumble he grabbed a sword off the rack and followed the Nord down the hallway and into the next room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait, I've been kind of busy. Thankfully the woeful lack of Skyrim slash pissed me off enough to write more. Enjoy!**

The elf was a surprisingly talented warrior, given his frail appearance. As they barreled through the crumbling keep they encountered several groups of Stormcloaks, which they dispatched fairly quickly. The stone walls were soon replaced by spider infested caves, mud caking on over the drying blood on their battered bodies. When they finally found the exit they were exhausted and the elf once again looked to be on verge of collapse, but at Hadvar's promise of shelter, Falcon forced himself to go on.

It was nearly dark by the time they arrived in Riverwood. Hadvar happily greeted his uncle and they were quickly ushered inside. They spoke for a few minutes and after he promised to talk to the Jarl of Whiterun, Falcon dropped into a bed, sleep claiming him almost before his head hit the pillow.

The next morning Falcon awoke to the twinkling eyes of a little girl, which would have been fine if she hadn't been less than a foot from his face. He jolted backwards in surprise and almost immediately regretted it. Pain flared up across his body, pretty much anything that _could_ hurt did. Giving a groan he gingerly rolled onto his back and massaged his eyes. The child, he couldn't quite remember her name, giggled before climbing to her feet.

"My Momma told me to tell you that she drew a bath for you downstairs," she said.

Falcon looked down at himself from between his fingers. The light Imperial armor was barely holding together, shredded by the blades of the soldiers they had fought and the fangs of the Frostbite spiders. Not to mention he was encrusted in dried poison, blood, and soot. Removing his hand he looked back at the little Nord and thanked her. She smiled "She also found some of Pappa's old clothes that you can wear."

Thanking her again, Falcon rose from the bed, wincing as the movement pulled on some of his wounds, and headed down the wooden stairs to find a large basin with a stool and a bucket of water sitting alongside it. A fresh, if not a bit moth eaten, set of clothes sat on the counter nearby. He had undone the first two buckles of his armor before he realized he still had company. Turning to the little girl on the stairs he raised an eyebrow. Caught, she giggled again before running up the stairs and this time Falcon waited until he heard the door open and close. Satisfied that he was alone he finished disrobing before sitting on the stool, grabbing a washcloth out of the bucket of blessedly warm water, and carefully beginning to clean the grime from his body.

By the time he was done, the water in the bucket was an murky grey and he hadn't even washed his hair yet. _I'll just wash it in the river_. With a grunt he got up and fetched his clean clothes, unfolding them he realized that they looked even bigger than the armor had been. _Great_.

Several minutes later he strode across the wooden bridge to the sawmill, trying and failing to look dignified. As he passed the mill, the Nord working it caught sight of him and made a choking sound, he quickly disappeared from view but Falcon's sharp ears could easily pick out the man's laughter. He'd been right, the worn cream-colored tunic might as well have been a tent on him. He has rolled the sleeves up but they kept sliding down over his boney hands and the hem of the shirt nearly reached his knees. Thankfully the sword belt had been salvageable, otherwise there would have been no way to keep his borrowed trousers from falling off.

Once he reached the bank he paused to roll his pant legs up before wading into the river. It was cold, but not unbearable, he was lucky it was still summer in Skyrim. Taking a breath, he slowly submerged his scalp in the water swirling around his knees, scrubbing viciously at the scruffy sides and forcing his fingers through the longer hair down the center. It took a while, but eventually he managed to wash all of the dirt and blood out and his hair returned to the deep red hue it was normally. _Well that's one thing out of the way_.

He straightened, brushing the wet hair out of his eyes and returned to shore. There was a general store across from Alvor's forge and Falcon had managed to pick up several things in his flight from Helgen that he thought he could sell. Most of his adult life he had made a living that way, killing bandits and looting their camps for valuables. He returned to the house, where he found his pack sitting next to the bed he'd slept on. Hadvar had returned and was eating breakfast at the table. The Nord did a double take before laughing good naturely, "Now that you're clean I almost didn't recognize you!"

Falcon smiled, "I'm sure my outfit didn't help either," and Hadvar chuckled in agreement.

"You might want to ask my uncle if he could teach you a few things about smithing, so you can make yourself something that fits a bit better."

"Perhaps. I already know a few things about leather and those skins I picked up yesterday should be enough to make some decent armor, but I suppose it never hurts to learn more." Hefting his pack up, he bid Hadvar goodbye and thanked him again for his hospitality before heading into the shop.

Just as he entered, he noticed two Imperials arguing at each other from across the counter. He nearly turned to leave, but the male behind the counter shushed the woman and called him over.

"I don't know what you heard, but Riverwood Trader is still in business. What do you need?"

Falcon raised his eyebrow at the haistily uddered welcome before his curiousity got the better of him, "Did something happen?"

An irritated look flickered across the man's face as he muttered, "Well….we did have a bit of a…break in…"

"What was taken?"

He sighed, "An solid gold ornament, in the shape of a dragon's claw. I think the headed up to Bleak Falls Barrow."

Remembering the stone ruin Hadvar had pointed out on their journey to Riverwood, he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "I know where that is, I could probably get it back for you."

Hope filled the trader's eyes, "Oh would you?! I have some coin coming in from my last shipment, it's yours if you can get my claw back."


End file.
